


Sometime Around Midnight

by 23_5



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, There's a lot of that, also sarah and felix aren't even really in this they're just sort of there in the background, and sad, based on the song, it's straight from the lyrics, literally none of this is mine, this is literal trash it's like 3am, this is so cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5807983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/23_5/pseuds/23_5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six days later, Cosima leaves the loft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there, this is your formal warning that this is not good at all, I am currently extremely sleep deprived, and my other Orphan Black fic is way better than this and you should (please) read that. Also, you should listen to the song that this is based on.

It’s nearing midnight when Cosima weaves her way back to the bar to fetch another round. She wants to go back to the loft, to curl back up on the couch with a joint, alone and seeping in the silence. Felix and Sarah had hoped that venturing back into the world would loosen her up, make her forget about the aches in her chest that seem to be taking over her life. Instead, they’ve cut in further, reached in and pulled at the fragile skin just starting to weave over her wounds, ripped it up and gashed her even more.

So Cosima keeps drinking. She drinks to get lost and she drinks to numb her heart and it works. It works and before she’s sure how many rounds she’s downed, she finds herself blissfully unaware, even if just for a moment.

Cosima sways slightly to the band playing somewhere behind her, closes her eyes and listens. The song is an old one, one about tragedy and loss and everything Cosima sees as she looks at her life. The keyboardist slides in and plays mere chords before she’s aching again. Aching at the way everything reminds her of _then_ – of together and before and _alive_.

In the dim light of the bar, Cosima can almost swear that she’s there too, long fingers curled around a glass of red wine as she laughs at some stupid story that someone’s told. Cosima suddenly looks up, her dreads swinging as her head snaps and her gaze flits between Sarah and Felix. _Just_ Sarah and Felix. She chastises herself at her own foolishness, shakes it off as she allows her eyes to drift, to slide over her sister’s shoulder.

And then time stops.

The room spins as Cosima’s eyes meet _hers_. She’s leaning against the wall near the door, blonde curls perfectly tousled, a white dress flowing and clinging perfectly. She smiles and Cosima thinks that nuclear fusion might have just occurred in her heart. She smiles and it’s as if she’s welcoming Cosima home. She’s angelic in the way she’s always been to Cosima, but there’s something even more, something ethereal that she radiates.

She bites her lip in a way that Cosima remembers so vividly and she can all but smell her perfume, feel the heat of skin brushing against skin. The edges of Cosima’s lips slowly pull up of their own accord as she remembers all of their mornings, where they started the day curled perfectly together to fend off shivers and goosebumps that winter’s morning air leaves in its wake.

But then she turns. She nods towards the door, motioning for Cosima to follow. In that moment Cosima forgets the chilly mornings, the late nights in the lab, the lazy afternoons in the chill zone. She forgets all the good and remembers the bad. The fighting and the sickness and Cosima remembers why she hasn’t wanted to leave the loft in weeks.

It’s been thirteen days since Cosima was called down to identify her body. Twelve days since Cosima’s search for her family members turned up only a list of death certificates. Six days since the funeral.

Thirteen days since Cosima’s world fell apart.

Twelve days since Cosima realized that the other woman really was entirely alone in the world without her.

Six days since Cosima left the loft. 

A man in a white suit pushes open the door and with one last glance, one last lingering look, Cosima’s world stops once more as she watches the woman she fell so desperately and hopelessly in love with tear her eyes away and follow him out. Cosima can feel her mood shift, her heart drop; from elated to enraged in a fraction of a second. All she can think about is watching her walk away.

How many times had she stood by and just… watched. Watched her walk out of her apartment, of the lab, of the country, out of her life. Cosima has one thought as she watches the bar door swing closed: she won’t let that happen again; she won’t let her slip away again.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Cosima’s legs are carrying her to the door. She leaves her glass on the table, vaguely registering Sarah and Felix’s questioning remarks as follows the shadow of a silhouette, barely visible outside the bar’s flyer-plastered front window. 

It seems to take forever to get outside. The longer Cosima goes without seeing the blonde, the more she can feel the panic, the need to chase after her, taking over her rationality. Cosima thinks back to the last time she’d seen her. Bundled in thick layers of coats, daggers of freezing air biting at exposed skin, they stood on a much cleaner sidewalk as Cosima apologized, as her eyes stared wide and awestruck, as she unknowingly said goodbye. 

She doesn’t quite know when it happened but her drunken stumbling turned into speed walking turned into running. The winter air sears her weak lungs, burning and aching and reminding her of pot and polyps with each gasp. She refuses to stop. Not for the people staring, not for her family chasing after her, not for her still-declining health.

She has to see her. Even if it’s just one last time, she has to see her. Just to say goodbye properly, just to tell her how much she loves her, how much she means. 

Cosima runs like she’s been possessed. She moves with more purpose than she ever has before, down sidewalks she doesn’t quite know and across streets she can’t remember the names of. She can feel the blood pounding in her ears, the wind snarling through her dreads. Grey and black, buildings and road, they all blend together as Cosima flies over them. She can feel the tears slipping from her eyes now, caught by the wind as soon as they leave.

She almost stops, almost indulges the small part of her brain that whispers about logic and reality. But then she sees the tail of a white dress turn the corner, the swish of all-too-familiar blonde curls disappear. And she pushes her legs to move faster, pushes her lungs to expand more.

She has to see her. She screams it in her head, a mantra for survival.

Cosima rounds a corner and feels herself grind to a halt, almost falling head over heels with the sudden change in momentum. Her mouth goes dry at the sight in front of her.

Slowly, she walks forward. Flames lick up her calves with each stride, irons brand her lungs with each inhalation. It doesn’t take long before her knees refuse to hold her up, buckling and dropping her onto cold ground.

The dirt is still fresh, only recently overturned, but little sprigs of new grass peek through on the edges. The sky is dark and the flickering streetlights don’t quite reach this far but Cosima doesn’t need the light to see where she is. It’s burned into her mind, a brand she’ll never be rid of.

They start slowly but escalate quickly, uneven breaths that hitch and stutter. Sobs bubble up through her chest like the blood that she’s become so accustomed to in the past few months. Through her tears she can see her hand reach out hesitantly, pausing before it touches the cold, polished stone in front of her.

The situation feels unsettlingly familiar but so foreign at the same time. She’d been here less than a week ago, standing stoic and resolute, forcing herself not to break down when she’d wanted nothing more than to do so, to indulge herself like she did now.

Her fingers, shaking from cold and emotion alike, trace delicately carved letters and numbers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that her coat has been draped over her shoulders and a comforting hand placed on her back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognizes that she knew where she was running the whole time.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, curled in on herself. Snow dances down from above, mocking Cosima’s heartbreak as she sobs, heaving and ugly, as she hurts, deep in her heart and her gut and her soul.

When her tears dry and her breathing evens out, Cosima forces her head up. Forces herself to think the thought that she’s been burying for days.

Delphine Cormier is dead.

It hurts worse than seizures and tumors and lies ever have. It hurts and Cosima feels something break inside of her and isn’t quite sure if she’ll ever be able to fix it.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was always sort of the headcanon that my sister and I had on this song, I just Orphan Black-ified it. Thank you for reading <3


End file.
